A Survey of British Literature
by Monopoly
Summary: A series of relatively short stories that I wrote during English class. They all make reference to or carry the theme of a work of British literature. Covers both Doctor Who and Torchwood. First story: Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness
1. Heart of Darkness

This is a series of one-shots that make reference to or crossover with various works of British literature

This is a series of one-shots that make reference to or crossover with various works of British literature. Yes, I wrote all of these in English class. (shame on me) This particular story is a crossover with Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.

Disclaimer: If it looks copyrighted, I don't own it.

Martha waited impatiently in the TARDIS. The Doctor had been his usual cheerful self until they had landed, at which point he had taken a look at the monitor and immediately become closed off. He had forbidden her from leaving the TARDIS, turned off the monitor, and disappeared into the apparent jungle that they had landed in. Martha was just contemplating the merits of leaving the TARDIS anyway--it had already been nearly six hours--when the TARDIS suddenly started dematerializing.

Startled, Martha grabbed hold of the railing and focused on not falling as the TARDIS took a surprisingly short trip. As soon as it stopped the door flung open, seemingly of their own accord, and the Doctor strode in. He had a very Oncoming Storm-ish look on his face.

He paused just inside the door and looked back, and that was when Martha realized that the TARDIS had landed in the clearing of a village. In front of them was a hut surrounded by a fence that had shrunken heads on poles for posts, but between the hut and the TARDIS was a tanned white man and what appeared to be an entire African village. The eerie part, though, was that every single one of them had their arms outstretched toward the Doctor.

The Doctor held their gazes for a long moment, then the doors closed in front of him and he turned and strode to the console, setting new coordinates and starting the dematerialization sequence.

Martha watched him move around the console and finally worked up the courage to ask questions despite the dark look on his face. "What was that, Doctor?" she even managed to get a tone of suspicion into her voice.

The Doctor didn't turn around. "I was just reminding an old friend of his place in the world. Some people get a little too power-hungry..."

Martha stared at him, bewildered. "Where were we, then?"

The Doctor finally looked at her, and she rather wished he hadn't. For once his cheerful facade was gone, and she could see the universe in his eyes. It didn't look like a very friendly place.

"That was the heart of darkness."

Martha didn't ask any more questions that day.


	2. Habits of Victorian Writers

My teacher went on a long spiel one day about how Victorian writers thought that bad things happened because God got his jolli

My teacher went on a long spiel one day about how Victorian writers thought that bad things happened because God got his jollies from watching mankind suffer. I felt that there was an obvious Doctor Who pun that needed to be made.

Disclaimer: If it looks copyrighted, it ain't mine.

"It was God, staring down on the Earth and giving us misery just to see us suffer. The lonely God, the lonely, bitter God!" wailed the destitute man.

Jack dropped some money in the hapless man's outstretched hat, then immediately turned an accusing eye to the Doctor, who whistled innocently.

"Oh," Jack muttered with a roll of his eyes, "he must've been talking about a _different_ Lonely God."

Top of Form


	3. Loveliest of Trees

Loveliest of Trees is a poem by A

Loveliest of Trees is a poem by A.E. Housman, which is really kind of morbid for a poem about spring. That didn't stop me from making fun of it, though, as you can see.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Donna sighed morosely at the book in her hand. The Doctor glanced over from his signed copy of Love's Labor Lost. "What's wrong, Donna?"

Donna gestured to her book. "It's A.E. Housman. I was just thinking--of my threescore years and ten, twenty-eight will never come again, and taking from seventy springs a score, I only have..." she did some hasty mental math, "it only leaves me forty-two more. Isn't that depressing?"

The Doctor nodded solemnly. "Oh, it's been a while since I read that one. Let's see...of my threescore years and ten, I suppose nine hundred and four will never come again. So taking from seventy springs a score, I only have...oh, about negative eight hundred thirty four years to go. Give or take a century."

Donna gaped at him, completely gobsmacked. "But--you--"

The Doctor perked up suddenly. "Well, we've both not got long to go, have we? So let's have an adventure! To the console room!" And then he was up and off.

Donna hung behind him, still stunned. "Nine hundred and four? My God, he's old enough to be my grandfather's grandfather! And--wait--oh, he was flirting with that shop girl yesterday! I'm going to kick his ancient behind!"

Thus began the next great adventure of the Doctor and Donna. And neither of them would notice, but they would, in a fitting manner, land on a planet covered in blooming cherry trees.


	4. In Hospital

In Hospital is a poem about sitting in a waiting room, and is also really kind of morbid

In Hospital is a poem about sitting in a waiting room, and is also really kind of morbid.

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

The nurse reappeared in Martha's office twenty minutes later. "Dr. Jones? You might want to just go ahead and see him now."

Martha frowned. "I really don't have time, Lois..."

"Yes, Doctor, but he's driving the staff crazy."

"I don't doubt it, but--"

"He's started quoting Henley, Doctor!"

A look of horror crossed Martha's face. "Oh, for God's sake, send him in. I thought he had a conniving side before, but quoting Henley in a busy waiting room--he's definitely cunning."

Five minutes later, the nurse reappeared with a skinny, brown-haired man in tow.

"Martha Jones!" he exclaimed happily, and Martha failed to not smile.

"Hello, Doctor."


	5. In Memoriam 1

In Memoriam is a series of poems written by Alfred Lord Tennyson

In Memoriam is a series of poems written by Alfred Lord Tennyson. It's all about grief—I thought it made sense that Jack would be familiar.

Disclaimer: Also not mine.

"Jack," called Tosh as she strode into his office, "I need to get into cold storage."

"Why?" Jack asked, not looking up from his paperwork.

"I'm updating the archives and there are a couple of members of Torchwood whose cause of death have passed out of the system. I thought I'd check their toe-tags."

Jack frowned. There weren't many members of the old Torchwood that he hadn't known and worked with, and he didn't like disturbing the dead.

Tosh was obviously getting good at reading Jack's facial expressions. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, Jack, I just need to update the archives."

Jack considered his options for a moment before sighing deeply. "You really want into cold storage? Fine. But you're not getting the passwords from me."

Tosh sighed in exasperation. "Am I going to be reading Emily Dickenson to a shut door?"

"No," Jack replied, not smiling, "you'll be reading In Memoriam to a shut door."

Tosh raised an eyebrow. "Tennyson? Fitting."

Jack bowed his head to his paperwork again. "I know."


	6. In Memoriam 2

Spawned from an amusing debate one of the guys in my class had with my teacher over whether Tennyson was waxing a little "gay"

Spawned from an amusing debate one of the guys in my class had with my teacher over whether Tennyson was waxing a little "gay" in certain parts of In Memoriam. Jack/Ianto.

Disclaimer: Really not mine.

Jack beamed at Ianto across the candle-lit table. A dinner date Jack had promised, and a dinner date he was going to give. Jack had used one of his shadier connections to reserve a table at one of the fanciest (and most expensive) restaurants in Cardiff.

Jack took Ianto's hand over the table. "Ianto."

"Yes, Jack?"

Jack lowered his beaming grin to a sultry smile. "Your eyes...Are _ethereal_."

Ianto's eyebrows reacquainted themselves with his forehead. "Ethereal."

Jack's smile turned even gentler. "Yes."

"My eyes are ethereal."

"Yes, your eyes are ethereal."

"My eyes are _ethereal_-"

"Do you have a _problem_ with your eyes being ethereal?" Jack finally demanded in exasperation.

Ianto simply smiled and shook his head, squeezing Jack's hand. "You're such a _girl_, Jack."


End file.
